


soft blues and hello kitty bandaids

by armethaumaturgy



Category: Elsword (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Minor Injuries, Time taking care of Psych, mostly a character study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10613616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armethaumaturgy/pseuds/armethaumaturgy
Summary: Arc pops his head put into the kitchen, reading glasses still snugly sitting on the bridge of his nose, and he gives Psych and Time an incredulous look."You got into another fight?"





	

Psych's laughter rings through the shared flat. He shouldn't be laughing, not with a knee scraped to high heavens and his whole right arm raw and bleeding, but not even that seems to stop him.

Arc pops his head put into the kitchen, reading glasses still snugly sitting on the bridge of his nose, and he gives Psych and Time an incredulous look.

"You got into another fight?" Arc asks, pushing the glasses up and near his headband, coming closer to take a closer look at the injuries.

Time is cleaning them up with a wet rag and a cluster of alcohol-laced cotton balls. His eyes rise and regard Arc with a thin layer of exasperation, but he goes back to the task at hand, carefully dabbing the raw skin as to not hurt Psych even more.

"Nah," the boy says, "I fell off my bike going down hill."

"Why would you- You know what, never mind."

"Arc," Time pipes up, the first Arc has heard him tall today. Time's visible eye shifts to him, a plea behind its bright color. "Bring me my first aid kit?"

Arc finds himself nodding, feet carrying him over to Time's room, pushing past the door covered head to toe in stupid signs all saying stupid things like 'don't disturb I'm busy crying' and ' **OUT** ' with a tiny 'of it' hidden underneath.

Time's room is familiar, even though there's more mess than Arc remembers. He crosses the forgotten book left laying on the floor, no doubt borrowed from the library and, no doubt, long overdue, Time's apt lack of sense of time coming back to haunt him.

Even the bedside table is littered with stuff, tiny scraps of kitty-print post it notes laying all over, under and over tiny gadgets and disassembled clocks.

Arc pulls out the bright red box from inside the table, wondering why Time asked him to bring it. Doesn't he have all he needs to clean up a simple scrape in the kitchen?

He gets his answer when he passes the box to the lankier boy, Time giving him a small ' _thank you_ '.

Arc moves to the counter and, after asking if they'd also want coffee, sets out the mugs. Still his eyes stray to the two, even as he feeds the ceramic spoonfuls of the ground beans and sugar.

Time rummaged through the box, passing over all the bandages (there's already a bandage over the worst of Psych' s scrape, hiding the tender, still faintly bleeding skin under a layer of thin gauze) and the boxes of pills that he forgets to take all too often. Instead he pulls out a bright pink box, setting the first aid kit aside.

Arc's eyes narrow as he tries to find out what it is from the distance.

Time flicks it open and pulls out something even smaller, and only when he's unwrapping it and Psych is gasping excitedly does he realize that it's a bandaid.

"Where'd you get those!? They don't have them in any close shops! " Psych asks, almost jumping where he's sitting while Time sticks the patterned yellow patch onto a small cut.

"I have my sources," Time answers non-committally, which, in Time talk, means he bought them on ebay for twice the usual price.

He sticks a good dozen of them all over Psych, hiding all the worst cuts and scrapes. When he's done, he puts the bandaids back into the box. Psych is too busy admiring the patters adorning his arms now, the only visible place except his knees.

"Thanks, Time," he says, pulling the other boy into a hug. Time is startled, to say the least, but he doesn't fight the embrace, instead relaxing into it after a moment.

"It's nothing," he grumbles. He's the best one with injuries out the three of them, after all. Still, the dusting of pink across his cheeks reaches even under his eyepatch.

He looks to Arc to save him from the quickly-becoming-awkward situation, but Arc is, in fact, quietly snickering at them, leaning backwards against the counter.

So much for that thought then. At least the coffee is ready.


End file.
